


Killing For Pleasure

by ruric



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Stargate Atlantis, Supernatural
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-18
Updated: 2011-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: Written for a "fusions" day on fic_promptly and specifically for enigel's 2011 promopt: Battlestar Galactica (2003)/Stargate Atlantis/Supernatural, John Sheppard & or / Kara Thrace, "move, Sheppard, this vamp's mine!"
Relationships: John Sheppard/Kara "Starbuck" Thrace
Collections: fic_promptly Fills 2011





	Killing For Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a "fusions" day on fic_promptly and specifically for enigel's 2011 promopt: Battlestar Galactica (2003)/Stargate Atlantis/Supernatural, John Sheppard & or / Kara Thrace, "move, Sheppard, this vamp's mine!"

He hasn't slept in three days, and they're switching shifts driving, three hours on three hours trying to get some shut eye as the wheels thrum over tarmac. Usually he can sleep anywhere, give him space to curl up or stretch out, a spot to rest his head and he is _gone_. Skills he picked up in the Air Force, honed in combat, and sharpened by his years on Atlantis, until they went bone deep don't usually leave him high and dry. But in recent years he's not been used to having someone else to travel with, and it’s a long time since he’s relied on anyone else. He's conscious of her even when he's trying not to be. 

He's been hanging round Hunters for the last three years, working his way in and making a name for himself but he's still never quite met anyone like her. Everything about her grates, from the way she wears army surplus like it's second skin, to her too wide smile and the laugh that seems to come from her toes. She smokes cigars that make his nose itch and has a silver hip flask she'll take a surrupticious swig from when she's driving and she thinks he's not looking. The sun is sinking slowly below the horizon when he cracks an eye open and he catches her at it _this time_. He rolls his head on the neck rest until she turns to glance at him.

"What?" she asks voice gone husky with the whiskey. She licks her lips and tucks the flask back into the inside pocket of her jacket.

"No point in killing ourselves to get across country if you're gonna wrap the truck around a tree," he says.

She lifts an eyebrow at him, sends him the long, lazy wide smile he'd sometimes like to smack off her face and she winks. "Never knew you air force guys were pussies."

It's not worth arguing further so he closes his eyes, tries to twist in the seat to get a little more comfortable and sets his back to her. 

"You sulking now, Shep?" he can hear the laughter in her voice and he huffs a sigh and tries to force himself to not think in the hope it may bring sleep.

He's jolted awake from a light doze by the screech of rubber and metal. She's flung out one arm across his body - which stops him smacking his head against the windscreen – and she's wrestling the truck's steering wheel with the other hand. She's shed her jacket while he's been out of it because he can see the muscles in her shoulder and arm working under tanned skin. 

The truck shudders to a halt and she's cursing, a rhythmic rise and fall of profanity. "Motherfucking piece of junk," he hears before he tunes her out. He's got the jack out, the truck raised and half the nuts loosened on the wheel before she winds down to silence and he has to admit he's impressed.

"Duck!" 

Her warming comes a second before he catches a glimpse of a fleeting shadow out of the corner of his eye. A whisper of a projectile passes too close to his cheek and there's a meaty thunk and grunt as it hits a target. 

"Vamps!" she yells. He comes up from a crouch, gun in one hand turning towards her. "Catch!"

His palm closes around a syringe filled with dead man's blood that she threw at him, aim unerring, and it's the last bit of conscious thinking he does for a while. Shadowy shapes seem to rise on all sides and there's the warmth of another human as she slips from the truck to stand with her back to his.

Fighting is instinctive for him after so many years. The part of his brain yelling in terror is locked deep away behind the part that's looks for patterns and weaknesses in any attack. The nest must be new because they sure as fuck aren't much good at fighting. Over it all, the panting of his breath, and beating of his heart and the hiss and howl of the vamps he can hear her yelling and taunting them.

The last one is down and he's bending to retrieve his knife and a syringe when her hip checks him.

"Move, Sheppard, this vamp's mine." 

Knocked off balance he goes down in the dirt, rolling to his back and coming to rest with his gun aimed just in time to see the vamp shiver to dust.

Then she's standing over him, feet straddling his hips, offering her hand as he flips the safety back on his gun. 

"Well, that was fun," the grin is back and there's laughter in her eyes. She's got a huge smear of dirt on her cheek where she connected with either the ground or a fist, a split lip seeping blood and her skin is shiny with sweat. 

He takes her hand and lets her pull him to his feet, wiping his other arm across his face. His nose is bleeding, he can taste the blood at the back of his throat and on his teeth and tongue.

She leans into him, the press of her body hard against him, and licks into his mouth. It's warm and perfect and wrong in so many ways, but it's been a long time. His hand slides over her hip, cups her ass and he pulls her in even tighter and concentrates on giving as good as he's getting. 

When he finally pulls away they're both panting. "You're insane."

She yanks open the truck door, grabs her silver flask, raises it in a toast to him and takes a long swallow. "Takes most people less than three days to come to that conclusion," she says, offering the flask to him with a grin.


End file.
